Verity
by Peppadew
Summary: A love story. Commander Verity Shepard meets Thane Krios during the events of ME1, instead of ME2. In general, this is a novelization of the events of Mass Effect with my own plot twists. Other romantic pairings to be explored are Garrus & Tali, and Kaiden & Ashley.
1. Chapter 1

_**Verity**_

a Mass Effect fan fiction

Chapter 1

Revised 10/30/15

POV: Commander Verity Shepard

Location: _Serpent Nebula Cluster / Widow System / The Citadel_

I made quick and friendly eye contact with the two human guards outside Ambassador Udina's office. They flanked the open door like statues, but when they saw my ready smile they loosened up, cocking their heads at me in an informal salute.

"Norman. Torrez," I said in greeting. I exaggerated an uneasy look over their shoulders into Udina's office, much to their amusement. They both knew I hated these meetings.

"How's the Ambassador this fine morning?" I asked.

"Vexed," Torrez said with a wry smile.

"Vexed?" I repeated, raising an eyebrow in sarcastic surprise.

"The keepers rearranged his office last night. _Again_," Norman supplied.

Through the open door I could see that he was, indeed, vexed.

Ambassador Udina sat at his desk like an irate orchestra conductor, squirreling away offending holographic data with his hands until nothing appeared before him except the bright and steady symbol of the Systems Alliance. It was then he saw me at the open door ― only a brief glance, for his attention was skittering from one thing to another― and he hastily called out to me, "Come in, Commander! Take a seat."

I sighed loudly for my audience, the two guards conveying one last sympathetic smile as I left them behind, the door closing behind me with a graceful _swish_.

_Success is sweet_, I thought. It'd taken a great deal of perseverance on my part to get the guards to relax around me. As an N7 marine, I normally elicited reactions ranging from awe to intimidation, and_ that_ was not fun. I didn't want to be the aloof commander: cold and distant. I wanted to be loved, not just admired or feared. I believed in loyalty built on trust and friendship over duty.

Idealistic, I know, but that was Captain Anderson's fault. The old man was the closest thing I had to a father figure, and he had instilled in me the impetus to look hard at who I really wanted to be in life.

Walking into Udina's office, I made a game of picking out the changes. At first, they seemed slight. The keepers' rearrangements seemed restricted to aesthetic adjustments of furniture (a green planter looked backwards, and one of the filing cabinets was definitely higher up on the wall). But the closer I got to Udina (he and his enormous desk were the "center of the universe" when it came to his office), the more I felt disconcerted.

I took a rambling seat along the L-shaped lounge pivoted before his desk, ingraining myself with these new spatial dimensions. _The angle's all wrong_, I thought, leaning back with my legs spread. _And I'm further from the door_.

Still, it was a beautiful office, no matter the changes, and while I rarely enjoyed the company, the view was always breathtaking.

The ambassador's office was among the largest of the Citadel Embassies, a testament to humanity's growing influence in the galaxy. It was twice the size of the embassy shared by the elcor and volus, and boasted one of the best views of the Presidium grounds far below, thanks to my favorite feature: an overhanging balcony, all open, instead of a solid wall, or even glass. It cut a broad swath behind Udina, flooding the office with artificial light.

The simulation of a bright blue sky was… _convincing_― that's all I could say for it.

I was beginning to miss the real thing.

_Five months, Shepard_, I told myself. Five months on _The_ Wonder of the Universe, the almighty Citadel.

But it felt like much longer.

Five months wasn't a whole lot of time as military appointments went (I'd served seven years on an interstellar warship, after all), but this was the first time I'd been cooped up on a space station, living stationary (relativity-speaking), and I was slowly realizing (in moments like these, the "sunlight" on my face) that I much preferred the natural skies of being planet-side, or even the sterile reality of living on a warship (with no artificial environs other than terra-gravity), than the picturesque, creepy-perfect day/night cycles so flaunted on the Presidium.

It's not that I couldn't appreciate it (artificial or not, it _was_ beautiful), or even that I had some snobbish inclination towards natural over unnatural (though I probably did, being born on Earth). No, it was the fact that all this beauty was tirelessly created and maintained by the mysterious keepers, and _they_ were unsettling to me.

Very unsettling.

There was, in fact, one in the room.

My meandering eyes caught one lurking behind a white pillar, connected to a data nodule. Unobtrusive. Silent. It was a pale fleshy creature with four spider-like legs, and on its back it wore a boxy collection of cybernetic implants― which looked like a child's book bag, strangely enough.

I stared, wincing, as one of its long, puke-white antennae twitched spasmodically_. Ugh_.

There were few things that disgusted me (I saw blood and guts and … well… _weird_ on a near daily basis, living among aliens and all), but put a keeper in my vicinity and that was it! I felt sick to my stomach, and the last thing I needed was for Ambassador Udina to think _he_ was the reason for my discomfort.

We both knew there was bad blood between us, but at least we tried to keep it polite when we were forced to interact. Retching on his lounge chairs probably wouldn't be construed as polite.

_It's not just the keeper that's got your insides all twisted up like a bag of snakes_, I thought.

I stared into the sunlight, trying not to think about what I'd just left behind to get to this meeting. I'd face it later, and with Garrus. Not alone. It was too much to face alone, and there was nothing worse than gnawing at a problem that couldn't be tackled _right this second_.

But worry I did.

I sat up straighter on the lounge (the cushions were way too soft for my liking), bringing my legs together in what I hoped was a more formal, businesslike pose. _Let's get this over with, Udina_. Nowadays, I was acutely aware of my body language, a natural side effect of living aboard a space station with millions of sentient aliens whose cultural norms I was at risk of inadvertently offending at any given time.

It made life exciting.

One time I offended an elcor. Yes, an elcor, as impossible as that sounds. (A story for another time, but let's just say the elcor have assimilated Shakespeare into their culture _very_ seriously, and apparently "biting one's thumb" is offensive. Do elcors even have thumbs?).

But that was before I met Garrus.

Mentor, friend. His little pearls of wisdom about dealing with other aliens was continually priceless. (Not to mention his insights into human behavior was actually pretty frakkin' revealing, coming from an outside perspective and all. You can bet I've done some soul searching since I've met him). Given the fact that he was also a turian, of all things, I considered our friendship a victory in itself, an indication that old wounds were healing (though neither of us personally served in the First Contact War, having been too young― so maybe our friendship wasn't _that_ miraculous, but I liked to think it most definitely was).

_Frak, I hope he's okay_, I thought, that worrying bag of snakes wiggling into my consciousness once more, but only briefly.

_Not now_.

They taught that early in the military.

Compartmentalize.

I pushed strands of tousled red hair away from my eyes, looking across Udina's mammoth desk to where he sat consumed by feverish activity, absorbed in whatever elaborate chess maneuver he was performing with dozens of datapads strewn about his desk. They were clearly not in their proper place, having no doubt been "rearranged" by the keepers, and only his careful ministrations were putting them back to rights again.

He was― since the moment I walked in― also utterly ignoring me.

It was a game we played (maybe politics versus military, if you truly wanted to simplify things). Me, waiting. Him, _enjoying_ me waiting.

But today my long suffering (ha!) patience was wearing thin. _I _do _have other places to be, Udina_, I thought, my gaze boring into his downturned face like one of Garrus' beady black-eyed stares that could (I'd seen it) make a grown man cry.

I decided to speak up.

"Did the keepers steal anything?"

It was a curiosity of mine. With all this involuntary rearranging, you'd think there'd be more concern over the keepers, but it was hands off, no questions asked. Keepers were allowed unfettered access to basically everywhere on the Citadel, and it was illegal to stop them or sabotage them or even scan them. _One day it'll be against the law to even _look _at them_, I thought with a snort― though, of course, they were already practically invisible, given how little attention they garnered. They were just background noise to most people.

But me? … I had my eye on them.

"Steal? _Pft!_" Udina snorted, shaking his head.

"Yes. Steal," I said, leaning forward over my knees, my hands pressed to my stomach. I hadn't had a real chance to sit down in _hours_. I was hungry, yes, but this... this was the nauseating clench of anxiety deep in my gut, trying to pull me off this stupid couch and out the door as fast as I could. _Frak!_ Garrus needed me, now more than ever, and of course Udina just _had_ to do this now! _Arg!_

I must have vocalized my frustration in a low grunt or growl because Udina suddenly looked up at me and blinked like an owl, as if suddenly aware, that, oh, yes, I was here for a meeting that _he'd_ called.

He mumbled, as if an afterthought, "The keepers are incapable of―"

His eyes jumped to my armor, and he stopped. Just stopped.

His hands fell to his side, datapads forgotten, and his eyes zip-lined back and forth across my armor in disbelief. _Yes, that's blood, Udina_, I thought. _And those are bullet holes_. By now he was probably used to seeing me fully armored, pistols at the hip, but never like this, fresh from a fight. The blood was still sticky wet; it glinted in the light, a barely visible tint of green against the backdrop of my armor's patterning of night black and dark green camo.

Truth be told, it wasn't _that_ bad (the two guards at the door hadn't batted an eye, but maybe they were trying to act cool around me; and it was, by no means, a real gore bath), but to a nonmilitary type like Udina, it probably looked rather shocking.

Udina, though, was probably more bothered by the fact that it was _alien_ blood spattered all over me. He didn't give two fraks about violence _between_ humans, but if an alien was involved Udina just had to stand on his frakking pulpit and cry about anti-human sentiment―

He exclaimed, all accusation, "You were on a mission?!"

"I've come straight from it," I said, unnecessarily. "You did indicate this was an emergency. Priority-One."

In response, Udina narrowed his eyes at me. _Great_.

Yeah, okay, my tone was a tad offensive, and I could have said "emergency" without the sarcasm, but I really, really didn't want to be here.

Still, the last thing I needed was for Udina to realize how little I respected these meetings. He probably_ did_, but thatwas part of the game: not making it obvious, and I'd just broken that rule. While these meetings weren't all that frequent (thank God!), I still thought they were a huge waste of time. Everything under the (artificial) sun was an emergency to Udina. He blew things out of proportion, scattered blame like wildfire, and most of all, he seemed to elicit a certain joy in questioning my every move.

Captain Anderson had warned me it wouldn't be easy working on the Citadel, but still it came as a shock to realize how embroiled I'd become in the political system.

This _game_ we played, for one. _Annoying as frak_, mostly _now_, with Garrus waiting for me. I didn't want to be here _AT ALL_.

"Shepard, will you―"

I was getting worked up, breathing harder.

I couldn't stand it anymore― sitting here, waiting, not _doing_ anything, but I paused mid-gasp, the alarm in Udina's eyes suggesting I should at least try to explain myself before running out the door. I knew he didn't like being left out of the loop (who did?), but I couldn't trust Udina to keep his nose out of it. He could seriously frak things up for me.

"It was a long night," I said, cautiously.

Udina crossed his arms. "Care to fill me in?"

_No. Just trust me_, I wanted to say.

He glared at me, waiting, a perpetual scowl set in its usual place right below his hawkish nose and hazel eyes. It always astounded me, when I had cause to look straight at him, how beautiful the color of his eyes really were. A kaleidoscope of greens and browns, speckles of gold; all of it lost on a rather plain face. He was a middle-aged man with soft hands. I looked at _my _hands. There was blood under my fingernails; green blood.

"Well?" Udina growled, still waiting. He hated waiting.

I sighed. _Frakkin' hell._

"I've made an arrest. Dr. Saleon."

Udina shot to his feet. "I _knew_ you wouldn't leave it alone!"

_Great. Now he's ballistic_. I blew out my nose in annoyance, my mouth sealing shut in thinly veiled fury. _You didn't see the bodies. You have no frakkin' idea, Udina_.

"Where is Dr. Saleon being held?" he demanded, waving his hands across a row of comm activators. Holograms sprang to life, rising up from the white-washed planes of his desk. "I have to inform the salarian councilor before it's too late."

"C-Sec, of course," I answered, slightly offended.

His (lovely) eyes lashed out at me, "And good thing. If you'd gone for Alliance custody, I cannot tell you―"

I cut off his angry tirade. "I'm not stupid. I _know_."

We had an impressive embassy under our belt, but that didn't mean we were best friends with the Council races. Humans were still greatly mistrusted. (Just ask Udina; he'll give you an earful).

His hands tickled over the holograms like he was playing a vertical piano, and I just glared at him, doing nothing. _Stay calm, Shepard_.

I said, nonchalant, "I wouldn't bother. The doctor's probably through processing by now."

_Please let him be through processing by now. Or better yet: dead_.

Udina just shook his head and kept going at it, his face growing darker by the moment. I wanted to knock him to the floor.

In fact I swear my biotics were tingling. I could feel all my anxiety and annoyance funneling into my fists, crackling at the edge of violence.

I sat on my hands.

"Stay out of this, Udina," I growled. But, of course, he _couldn't_― like a bag of snakes, we were too tangled up.

He shot me a particularly nasty look. "Do the words 'political shit storm' mean anything to you?" Saliva spat from his mouth. "Dr. Saleon is highly connected. He's family to the salarian councilor. Do you hear me? _The salarian councilor!_ For crying out loud― _and_ he's a highly regarded geneticist, which is extremely important to the salarians' culture. You can't just arrest him!"

"A highly regarded _murdering_ geneticist," I retorted.

"Jesus―"

"We have reasonable suspicion and ev―"

"_We?_ Don't tell me you've been working with that―"

_Okay, now I was really getting mad_.

"_AND_ EVIDENCE," I said, raising my voice to hysterical levels.

Before I knew it, I was up on my feet, leaning over his desk and glaring at him, eye to eye, with all the venom I possessed.

"Jesus Jon Grissom Christ!" He looked ready to burst into flames, but at my sudden close proximity he noticeably backed off. (Yeah, I had that effect on people. N7 with biotics― the intimidation factor _did_ come in handy time to time).

Into the forced calm, he said, darkly, "You're putting your Spectre candidacy in grave peril, not to mention the entire Human Embassy. The salarian councilor specifically warned us―"

He stopped short, an alarm blaring.

He stated in disbelief, "The salarian councilor is refusing to speak with me."

My heart lifted in relief. The salarian councilor's intervention _was_ a real threat, one I was hoping Garrus could delay until I returned.

I backed off his desk. Sat down.

As I regained my composure, he scrambled at the controls. "I have to try again."

I just leaned back, trying to relax while he continued his frantic activity over the holograms, grumbling and swearing. Finally his hands came to a reluctant standstill. _Poor guy looks utterly dejected_, I thought, laughing to myself. With one last prodigious sigh (for my benefit, no doubt), he shut down the holograms, one by one, until the symbol of the Systems Alliance shone bright and steady once more―his dormant system holosaver.

In the sudden silence, I met his gaze over the white barrenness of his desk, and for a long awkward moment neither of us spoke.

He slapped his hand down on the desk, rattling a pile of datapads so violently they clattered to the sunlit floor. "Dammit, Shepard! Didn't I tell you to back off?"

I clenched my fists. "I can't, and I won't. His victims are human. His victims are asari, and turian, and, yes, even salarian, his own kind. When the truth comes out, it won't matter who he is, only what he is: a monster."

He shook his head. "You've put ten years of diplomatic progress in jeopardy, not to mention your own Spectre candidacy! How do you justify―"

_That's it!_ I leapt to my feet, angling towards the door. _ I couldn't deal with this right now. Garrus needed me. I should never have left him alone, but Udina's frakkin' comm alert_―

I'd been with Garrus, dragging the hand-cuffed doctor through the long, crowded halls of C-Sec towards Executor Pallin's office when I'd first received Udina's comm alert on an encrypted Priority-One channel reserved for high-ranking Alliance officers. I had to leave.

"He'll be here when you get back. I promise," Garrus had said, noticing my hesitation. (The encryption was Priority-One, but with Udina I had my doubts about these so-called "emergencies," his meetings tending more towards political mumbo jumbo than actual life-and-death crises I was trained to handle. But I had my duty. So I went).

We'd spent all night chasing the bastard.

Dr. Saleon had led us through all five Wards before we finally snagged him in Zakera, at a docking port. He was trying to board his get-a-way, the MSV Fedele when I snagged him with my light pistol, right through the leg. Nonlethal. Kneecap shot.

If I hadn't shot him, he'd have gotten away, possibly forever, and I couldn't let that happen. Not after what Garrus and I had found in that last secret laboratory we'd snuck into, the doctor's handiwork resting on bloodied operating tables.

We both wanted inside the Fedele to investigate, but by then Citadel Security was on top of us and we had to bring him in, or risk being arrested ourselves for attempting to board private property without a permit, thanks to Executor Pallin's refusal to get involved in our investigation. (Dr. Saleon's protection from a plethora of higher-ups was a serious obstacle, to put it mildly).

Even now, I could see Dr. Saleon's smug smile in my mind; it widened as C-Sec officers had poured in around us, demanding to know what we were doing to the "kind doctor" and to "back away at once!" Dr. Saleon had been limping, his knee blown out, green blood gushing from multiple gunshot wounds to the chest (Garrus' pepper shots, normally nonlethal, but without medical attention…). No one else saw the doctor's smug smile. It disappeared into a face twisted by howls of rage at this "injustice" and screeching accusations that we were assaulting him. _Damn right we were assaulting him_.

None of the police officers knew about my work with C-Sec, otherwise we might have gotten away with boarding the Fedele right then and there, dragging Dr. Saleon along in case we needed him to get through security barriers, or just to have a place to quietly interrogate him (we'd never had the chance before). Had the police officers been higher up the chain of command (and therefore in the know), or in a special division (not just conventional police), or had they actually worked with me before (like I did with Garrus), I probably could've talked my way unto the MSV Fedele, but as it was Garrus and I had trouble just getting them to lower their frakkin' weapons.

Garrus flashed his detective badge, but still they came at us like rabid dogs. _What, was I arresting Salarian Jesus? _I just concentrated on maintaining a chokehold grip on the doctor's scrawny neck. Salarians were a squid-like people, thin and squirmy, with an amphibious delicacy to them. I never felt more disgust for an alien than at that moment.

I didn't care if I squeezed the life out of him. I'd seen too much, what he'd done … The blood all over my armor was his, and as far as I was concerned it wasn't enough blood.

But Garrus had touched my arm. I'd been strangling the doctor to death and I hadn't even realized― "Let go, Shepard," he'd said, and I did. God help me, I did.

From there, I'd marched Dr. Saleon straight into C-Sec custody, only to be interrupted by Udina's comm alert.

"You won't get away with this, human! You have no proof!" Dr. Saleon had bellowed at the top of his lungs as I left him behind with Garrus, right outside the Executor's office with a dozen angry C-Sec officers in tow. They had followed us the entire way back like a cloud of locusts, eating away at my patience.

_No proof_. It echoed in my ears, making me sick. _An ocean of frakking proof_. Down the drain.

It was a wall we'd been climbing for _months_ (almost as long as I'd been here on the Citadel), but now that Garrus and I knew about the doctor's ship, it changed everything! The MSV Fedele was our chance to get ahead of it! Stop Dr. Saleon's sabotage and destruction of evidence. Why hadn't I thought of it before? _Of course_ the doctor would have a ship, something highly mobile and disconnected from the space station. A medical research vessel, protected by law―

A flood of panic rose inside me, amplified by urgency and fear. _ I never should have left Garrus! Frak! _Too much was hinging on Dr. Saleon's arrest and that ship of his. If Udina was right― if Executor Pallin surrendered to salarian pressure and released the doctor―

Udina's irritated voice cut through my frantic thoughts. "Commander, forget Dr. Saleon!"

_(WHAT?)_

"This meeting supersedes everything." He was leaning over his desk, his hands planted in front of him, staring me down.

I'd made it half way to the door.

Lost in my own thoughts. But now―

"Something's happened, Shepard, and it's big. You need to hear it."

I said through gritted teeth, "I left Dr. Saleon for this. It'd better be good."

The look he gave me said everything. Maybe for once Udina's so-called emergency really _was_ an emergency.

I slowly returned to the lounge. Sat down, stiff as a board. A feeling of disquiet fell over me as Udina said, "Commander, you're being pulled off the Citadel immediately. Captain Anderson has asked me to relay your new orders."

"Pulled off…?" I heard my breathy, shocked voice as if from a distance. '_The hell is going on?_ It took a moment for my brain to switch gears. I mentally pushed Dr. Saleon aside and blurted, all flustered, "Wait― the Alliance scratched my contract with C-Sec?"

"You never had an official contract with C-Sec. It was all under the table."

_I know_, I wanted to scream at him.

"I meant my Spectre candidacy," I said, gritting my teeth.

My work with C-Sec was meant to be a testing ground. I was being vetted by the Council for Spectre status― secretly, as I'd been told, for political reasons. "Officially," I was just a security liaison between Citadel Security and the Alliance Navy, but even that job title was circumspect, buried beneath the more commonly known "Commander." Or as Garrus put it: "Human. Female. Military," and with a grin that stretched his mandibles, "Badass."

Udina lifted his hand, as if erasing details that didn't matter. "Look, the Alliance is not changing their mind about you. You're still being put forward as our best candidate for Spectre status, and the Council is still in approval―"

I sighed. _Thank God!_

Udina added, (rather smugly, the frakkin' jerk), "But after today, when they find out about Dr. Saleon―"

I cut him off. I wasn't worried about _that_. I was dead sure about Dr. Saleon. Nothing would sway my decision to bring him down.

Instead, I asked, shaking my head, "Why are _you_ acting as a go-between for Captain Anderson?"

The captain was my commanding officer. It was strange, to say the least. Plus Udina wasn't military.

"Because of the political nature of this mission. You've been handpicked for it, Shepard. This comes straight from the top."

With the flick of the wrist, he pulled out a palm-sized datapad from inside his desk drawer (safe from his earlier onslaught that had left a clattering mess all over the floor) and slapped it down on the desk in front of me. I reached above it.

Alliance encryption briefly flickered across the screen as my left forearm swiped across it, initiating upload of the data to my activated omni-tool. A burst of orange, holographic light briefly encircled my arm, indicating successful connection.

It hurt my eyes.

I was more tired than I cared to admit― and hungry. The anxiety was still there, aching deep in my gut, but after all this back-and-forth drama with Udina, I was finding it difficult to concentrate. This business with the Alliance required my full attention, I knew, but my thoughts kept drifting to Dr. Saleon and that ship―

Distracted, I glanced at the streaming headers on the encrypted data uploaded to my omni-tool. It was straight from Alliance brass. _Frakking hell_. The timing couldn't be worse…

He nodded at the datapad. "How versed are you in Prothean technology?"

I snorted. "Can't say archeology is one of my specialties." _ Was that what he meant? _Seemed a rather obtuse question.

And unexpected.

I'd be surprised if anyone in the entire Milky Way galaxy was a true Prothean expert. Sure, I could recite the basics (every Alliance recruit took a galactic ancient history class). The Protheans were an advanced, spacefaring civilization that mysteriously disappeared about 50,000 years ago, leaving behind ruins upon which all modern day technology was based. Several examples came easily to mind: the Prothean-constructed mass effect relays that allowed instantaneous point-to-point spaceflight (scientists were still puzzling out _how_), or the Prothean-derived mass accelerators, the engineering marvel behind modern weaponry and shield tech.

Even the Citadel was a relic of the Protheans.

The space station wasn't just home to millions of aliens. It was unequivocally the political center and cultural heart of the galaxy, an "enduring monument to our ancient benefactors," as the Council liked to say all over fancy plaques throughout the station.

And if the Alliance was running a military operation involving Prothean technology, it could only mean one thing.

"What did we find? A weapons archive?"

If the answer to that question was inside the data transferred to my omni-tool, I'd read the fine details later. For now I expected Udina to give me the short version.

And for once, it actually seemed like Udina's definition of emergency coincided with mine.

Weapons archive or not, it _was_ risky business securing Prothean ruins.

Often they were outside Council space on uncharted worlds, vulnerable to smugglers, mercenaries, shady corporations and terrorist organizations. Even the occasional religious zealot could pose a serious security risk. The hanar (a species reminiscent of Earth's jellyfish) were known to flock to ruins in droves, preaching the truth of the Enkindlers (as they called the ancient Protheans), all the while obstructing excavation or sabotaging research. In the eyes of the Citadel Council, the self-proclaimed leaders of galactic society, it was a serious crime to obstruct the investigation of Prothean technology. Offenders weren't just breaking the law, they were "undermining the progress of society itself." (_See, I pay attention to politics, Udina_).

But as much as the Council encouraged individual species to share their Prothean research with the wider galactic community, it was still very common for discoveries to remain hidden, secreted away under the guise of self-interest.

Okay, yes, humanity was guilty of_ that_, but we did eventually "share" what we learned with other aliens through capitalistic means. All that research had to be funded, after all.

I fingered the bullet holes in my armor (Dr. Saleon's cheap shots― what kind of doctor walks around with a gun under his lab coat?). The bullets hadn't penetrated the underlying biomesh, so I hadn't needed to apply medi-gel to myself. But case in point… The last time humanity discovered a major Prothean ruin, it turned out to be a treasure trove of medical breakthroughs in biotechnology. Sirta Foundation, an Earth-based megacorp, had spearheaded the advancements in medi-gel technology, all built upon Prothean research.

Eventually, our research had been shared― well, _sold_ actually.

The Ambassador certainly proved his worth then, I'll give him that. Medi-gel was technically illegal under genetic modification laws, but Udina managed to quell the Council's objections, allowing legal sales of the medi-gel product (instead of black market dealings).

It was a major win for humanity.

In all honestly, the initial backlash was surprising (maybe Udina was right about all that anti-human prejudice in the Council). The medi-gel product was just too beneficial to ignore. It saved lives. Saved _my_ life on more than one occasion. Taking bullets was an inevitable part of my job, despite fancy shield modulators and armor plating. Dr. Saleon's bullets were just a taste of what kind of damage I received on a normal basis. _If I was doing my job right_, I thought, dryly.

But a weapons archive. Wow. Now that was a different story. Did we hide it under our bed or share it with the world?

Ambassador Udina nodded at my question, "Your hunch is correct, Shepard. It _is_ a weapons archive."

"Scary."

"The researchers have ruled out biological, nuclear. Could be some kind of superluminal application we haven't seen before. I don't know. What I _do_ know is that a Prothean beacon was unearthed approximately five days ago on Eden Prime. The data I gave you is preliminary research, and even then it's overwhelming. The beacon's unlike anything we've ever encountered before. This is going to change our world."

_Again_, I thought.

The discovery of Prothean technology (on Mars, in the case of humanity) was the whole reason any of us were even out here, navigating the stars, interacting with aliens. Mass effect made interstellar civilization possible because it connected us― across billions of light years, eons of isolated evolution, it connected us.

I understood Udina's excitement. This beacon was supposed to be good news. Another discovery, another breakthrough― humanity following that inexhaustible hunger to know _what's out there_, and to progress. Always, to progress.

But I couldn't celebrate, not until I knew exactly what we were dealing with. I'd seen too many abuses of power to be excited― and that's exactly what this Prothean beacon represented. Power. Superiority. Just look at the asari. Considered the most advanced civilization alive, and why? Because they found Prothean technology _first_.

Udina must have sensed my silent misgivings. He leaned forward over the desk, gazing down his hawkish nose at me. "This is a good thing, Shepard. Look, I know you're not a Prothean expert. You'll of course be running security at the site, but I'm here to make sure you understand the political repercussions of what we're about to do."

"What we're about to do?" My mouth fell open.

_Here it comes_. _Frakkin' politics_.

"The Alliance has decided to share the beacon."

I stood up. Started pacing. When bad feelings about something come over me, they _really_ come over me. This beacon was bad business. I could feel it.

Udina looked amused. "You don't agree?"

How could I agree? Share or not share― what did we actually _know_ about this beacon?

I grappled for words. "_Share_ the beacon? What― with the Council?"

"Yes."

I stared at him. He seemed pleased, almost proud, as if this entire deal was his idea. Maybe it _was!?_ Did Udina have that much power with Parliament back on Earth?

I stammered, half thinking out loud, "_You?_ The Council?"

It made no sense. Udina was always telling me: 'The Council is anti-human,' 'the Council is holding back humanity,' 'the galaxy needs real leadership…' From where I stood, Udina _lived_ for defiance of the Council, but now he suddenly wanted to trust them?

That beacon could be humanity's only advantage, and he just wanted to give it away? For what?

I was tongue-tied in frustration, and Udina was eyeing me like I was crazy. I sat back down.

"I-I don't understand. What about all that anti-human bullshit you're always going on about―"

"That 'anti-human bullshit' is the truth," Udina snapped. "The Council's always preaching that we need to be part of the galactic community, but for them it's a one-way street. The Council wants us to expand and settle unstable regions like the Skyllian Verge and the Attican Traverse, but at the first sign of trouble they don't want to help us out. How many human colonies have to be slaughtered by batarian raiders before they lift a finger? Well, this beacon changes everything."

I was shaking my head throughout his speech. "I don't understand. How does this beacon change everything, Ambassador?"

"Because it's something the Council _wants_." He leaned forward, his eyes lighting up. "Prothean tech is the most valuable commodity in the universe. If they want in on our discovery and research, the Council has to commit resources. Not just related to the beacon, but for our colonies. They need to help protect our planets and ships and people, like _they_ protect their own."

"So you're buying political currency with this beacon, is that it?"

"For the sake of humanity, Shepard," he said, and with such passion I almost felt guilty for arguing against him. It's true our human colonies were dangerously vulnerable, spread thin across the universal frontier. The last seven years of my life had been devoted to protecting human assets as we expanded beyond the Local Cluster― dozens of settled colonies, hundreds of industrial outposts, countless ships and millions of lives― the Systems Alliance _needed_ marines like me as never before in history.

Udina drove his point home. "Look, if we did everything the Council told us to do, of course they'd let us join. They'd love to have us then! But we don't want to be _puppets_." He said that final word with thick scorn.

"You want real power."

"Yes. The kind that actually shapes interstellar policy."

I bit my lip. "Okay," I said. _Frak me_. "Okay, I get it, Udina. I agree."

"Yes!" Udina said, pumping his arm (rather comically). _My support meant that much to him?_

"But I'm not too keen on our timetable here," I said, glowering at him. _I'm not completely won over, Udina_, I thought. "Why are we rushing to share the beacon? Why not study it first on our own, figure out what we're dealing with..."

Udina nodded, a smile budding on his lips. He motioned towards the datapad. "We have. Preliminary research suggests―"

"―suggests we should be cautious," I interjected. "Just the _idea_ of a Prothean weapons archive should scare the hell out of everyone. Protheans were supposedly the most advanced species ever to exist. What if we accidentally unlock something we don't understand, can't control."

The implications were mindboggling. Did I really have to explain this to Udina?

"Leave that to experts, Shepard. The researchers."

"But―"

"Look, it's a risk we have to take, and Parliament is inclined to agree with me. I'm sorry, Shepard, but the decision's already been made."

_Look, look, look! _I was sick of his frakkin' "_Look!_" I wanted to grind my jaw, but my face was too frozen in frustration to move. If Udina thought he had an explanation for everything, he wasn't _looking_ hard enough.

He continued, unfazed, "It's already happening. The Council is committing resources as we speak. They want us to move the beacon to the Citadel for proper study as soon as possible, and we've agreed. It would do us some good for the Council to have a daily reminder of what we have to offer them."

"The Citadel?" I swear I could feel my eyes bug out. "That's _not_ safe," I said, cutting the air with my hand. "There are way too many security risks, not to mention a large civilian population."

"Work with me, Commander," he said, shaking his head. "Like it or not, we're sharing that beacon, and sharing it _now_ and where they want it." His eyes burned. "Whatever it takes until we're accepted into the Council with_ real_ power, not just as puppets."

I read between the lines.

Until _he_ was accepted into the Council.

I wanted to laugh. Was _that_ what this was all about? All this urgency and "now, now, now" for his pride and ambition?

_It's not breaking news, Shepard_, I thought, dryly. I'd been on the Citadel for five months now, long enough to realize Udina's personal ambitions extended far beyond the realistic expectations set by the Alliance. He wanted to be the first human Councilor. He wanted to make history.

The thing was, political progress seemed to move_ real_ slow around here. I saw the odds stacked against Udina. I really did.

If Udina wanted to become the first human councilor, he'd need significant political changes to happen _within his lifetime_. Realistically, that seemed a long way off, even with all that humanity had achieved in such a short period of time on the galactic stage.

_And when I say short I mean short_. Thirty years compared to _centuries_ of those who came before us.

The advent of humanity was preceded by dozens of unique alien races all over the Milky Way. Spacefaring civilization flourished with the rise of the Council and its three Councilors: a trinity of power shared by the asari, the salarians, and the turians. Everyone else either catered to them as "client races" or tried to stake a claim in the lawless Terminus Systems.

Still, I believed humanity's record-breaking embassy achievement _was_ a big deal, even if it wasn't enough for Udina's liking.

Garrus had privately told me some aliens were actually pissed about it.

Like _really_ pissed. He said they felt humanity was trying to bully their way to the top. That humans were largely viewed as aggressors. Too unpredictable and too independent. Even dangerous.

That humans hadn't earned anyone's trust, only their suspicion.

"What about you, Garrus? Do you trust me?" I'd asked him at the time.

It'd been a semi-serious conversation about humanity's sudden rise in the universe, shared during one of our long hunts for one of Dr. Saleon's secret disappearing labs. We'd been joking (alleviating frustration and exhaustion), and I'd truthfully asked the question in jest, not expecting a heartfelt answer. But Garrus had surprised me and responded very seriously, his alien eyes rock steady, black and soulful.

"Yes, Shepard," he'd said. "I trust you, completely."

I admit I had felt a little uncomfortable, then.

We never really talked about our feelings, or our strange friendship, turian and human. He was my first alien friend, my _only_ alien friend. I'd asked, changing the subject, "And Udina? Do you trust him?"

"You're the only human I trust, Shepard," he'd said. "As for Udina, I can't imagine him as some kind of _fourth_ Councilor. I think he wants to be the _only_ Councilor."

I could see what he meant. Udina came across as power hungry. Ambitious, if you wanted to put it in a good light.

Sure, Udina had been elected to his office as Ambassador, but if he became an actual Councilor, that was unimaginable power. Galactic power, way over our human Parliament. He wouldn't just be in charge of Earth's progress and stability, but the civilized universe as a whole, too.

Despite being vetted for Spectre status by the Council, I actually knew very little about its three Councilors. No personal names. Just species. Asari. Salarian. Turian. Each representing billions spread across the known galaxy. Very few were granted face-to-face audiences with them. I even heard there was a six month waiting list.

I, for one, had only ever saw them as holographic feeds over the extranet.

Between the three of them, they had more power than all the leaders of human history combined. The Council was the height of galactic power, a millennia-old rule founded by the asari, the first to discover the Citadel. We were still mucking through the Iron Age on Earth when the asari welcomed the salarians into the Council, and eventually the turians by virtue of their role in crushing the Krogan Rebellions. This was the balance of power that had existed for centuries― three species, three councilors― and now humanity was on the outside looking in.

And Udina wanted to change it all right _now_. Forward progress on a human timescale, not alien. (The asari reportedly lived for centuries, so of course they'd take their sweet time).

Personal ambition was all well and good, but not when it compromised humanity's future. Or safety, for that matter.

If this beacon was going to be used for political leverage, somebody had to get serious about the risks. We shouldn't be rushing into anything! There's a_ reason_ the Protheans went extinct, wasn't there? We could only speculate on their disappearance, but what if it was some kind of nightmarish situation involving a doomsday weapon? What if that beacon killed us all? It might seem outlandish, but we had to consider the possibility and adapt our reasoning to our changing world. Thirty years ago, just the idea of living among actual aliens was outlandish, yet here we were, travelling the stars!

"We have to be careful," I said, but I might as well have said nothing. Udina was ignoring me again.

He was fiddling with the comm activators at his desk, moving his hands and fingers in intricate maneuvers across the touch-sensitive controls. _Frak, was he trying to contact the salarian councilor again?_

I squeezed my fists, silently stewing with worry. _ What was I going to do about Dr. Saleon? How much time did I have? _If the Alliance was pulling me off the Citadel, things tended to move fast―

"Captain Anderson has just arrived," Udina informed me, glancing at data streams illuminating his desk in bands of flashing text.

My head snapped up. "He's with the Tokyo?"

I'd served on that warship for seven years. It'd be good to see the ship again, and the man who commanded it. Captain Anderson was like family to me.

"Yes. They've just docked," he said. He met my gaze. "They're here for you. Like I've said, the Alliance has agreed to move the beacon to the Citadel for proper study. Your orders are to secure its recovery and transport. Captain Anderson will brief you further."

"Of course."

"They'll only be docked for a few hours, gathering personnel, supplies. From my understanding, there's several scientists aboard the Citadel who will be joining you, and you'll be responsible for their safety on route. The Council wants the beacon secured as quickly and cleanly as possible. We're _all_ racing against the clock now."

_You're telling me_, I grumbled to myself, flexing my fingers. Dr. Saleon's green salarian blood was drying, flaking off my skin.

Udina's eyes darkened. "As for your Spectre candidacy, need I remind you the salarian coun―"

"I know," I said, cutting him off. "You don't have to explain the political situation around _that_."

I stood. Gave Udina one last look. His eyes were angry.

"Don't interfere with Dr. Saleon," I said, harshly, pointing down at him. Yeah, it was a bit threatening, but I didn't want him undermining my investigation as soon as I walked out that door. It was bad enough I was now running out of time to deal with the doctor before I left.

"Fine. Have it your way," Udina replied, equally harsh. "But when the shit hits the fan over this― and it will― you can bet I'll be keeping my distance. It's a scandal, Shepard. A career-breaking scandal. Is that what you want?"

I turned away from him.

He growled at my back, "Don't think you can ask me for help when the salarians revoke your Spectre candidacy. I warned you―"

"It won't come to that."

I was fuming. Halfway to the door.

I didn't want to see Udina's face again for a long, long time.

"Commander! All I'm asking is that you _delay_ whatever criminal investigation you have against Dr. Saleon. Wait until we've secured the beacon."

"If I wait, I could lose him," I snapped. Possibly forever. He had a ship. The Fedele.

And space was a very, very big place to hide.

"And _we_ could lose everything. There's too much at stake, Shepard. Not even Dr. Saleon is worth it if we lose the Council's endorsement of your Spectre candidacy!"

I whipped back around and glared at him. "Do you really have to spell it out?"

If a human were to be accepted for the first time into the Spectres, it would go a long way towards humanity's push for a seat on the Council. That made Udina's political future gravely dependent on my success. _And, oh, how he must despise that fact! _

The Systems Alliance had tried before― and failed.

We never talked about it.

But it had been Captain Anderson. Humanity tried to get him to be the first human Spectre, but for some reason I had never learned, the Council had decided to reject his candidacy in the end. At the time, Anita Goyle had been Ambassador. In some ways, it'd been _her_ failure, too, for putting all her political weight behind him.

Now it was my turn.

I was supposed to be the one that corrected history's mistakes. People called me a war hero. People said I'd make the perfect Spectre.

I just wanted to protect people.

Spectres operated as a shadow organization, behind the scenes, beholden to no one but the Council itself. Of course the Council preferred to use diplomacy and negotiation when possible, but sometimes more extreme measures were required, off the books, and that's where the Spectres came in. They were the Council's secret weapon of choice― and its last line of defense.

I figured I could do a lot of protecting with _that _kind of authority.

"Maybe I should spell it out," Udina snapped. "Because you're not just risking your career, you're risking mine."

"If I fail, you can always back another candidate," I said, sourly.

He sure as hell hadn't back mine. My original nomination had come from the support of Captain Anderson and Admiral Hackett, not from Udina's circle of influence. (Udina had instead backed an Alliance officer I knew only by reputation, a certain Lieutenant Kaiden Alenko).

And with that I marched out of his office, taking considerable pleasure as the door _swished_ shut behind me, cutting off Udina's angry reply.

A very bewildered Norman and Torrez greeted me upon my hasty exit, flanked on either side of the door. No more smiles for them. I left them behind with a curt nod, my heart racing ahead of me. _No time to waste_.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Revised 10/29/15

Part 1

POV: C-Sec Detective Garrus Vakarian

Location: _Serpent Nebula Cluster / Widow System / The Citadel_

_I could really use Shepard by my side right now_, I thought for the millionth time. Dammit, how long was Udina going to keep her this time?

I was pacing Executor Pallin's office― driving him insane, no doubt― but there was no way in hell I was going to leave his office until the situation with Dr. Saleon was under control.

And "under control" was exactly what it wasn't.

Lawyers. Press. They were all here now, crowded outside the Executor's office, making demands, shouting over one another.

At the moment, Dr. Saleon was stewing inside a holding cell, receiving medical treatment, but I had no way of knowing how long that delay would last. The lawyers were threatening legal action, and the reporters were buzzing like angry bees. I didn't know which was worse. _Dammit, Shepard. Where are you?_

Executor Pallin was my only hope now, which was to say no help at all.

I stopped pacing, noticing the slightest change in the old turian's demeanor. He rose from his desk, his communication with the Council at an apparent close. Bright holograms flickered into nonexistence.

He met my gaze, unflinching― and just like that, I felt a quiver of dread go down my exo-skeleton, hardening my legs like tree stumps. I couldn't move.

"Garrus," he said. He sounded sorry.

"What did they say?" I demanded, angry. I didn't want _sorry_.

"The salarian councilor is demanding we release him at once. We have to comply."

"And you didn't fight it?" I growled, breaking out of my fear, petrified muscles releasing into action. I strode forward towards his desk and pounded the surface with one angry fist. _Crack!_ The splitting noise alone suggested something had broken, but I didn't look, didn't even care. I braced my body against his desk so that he had no chance of escape, not while I had him pinned down beneath my gaze.

"That's the way turians do it," I'd told Shepard once. "You have to make intense eye contact."

Shepard had laughed. "Come on, Garrus. Everyone knows that. The eyes are the windows to the soul." Her smile was all ruby red lips. "Tell me something I don't know. Some weird alien thing about turians that'll help me understand your species."

I'd thought it over. _Weird could get really weird_. "Well… the color red is considered aggressive, some might even say unappealing. You might consider changing your face paint to something more attractive. Like blue. I like blue."

"Face paint?" Her face had screwed up in confusion (I was getting good at reading human faces). "Oh, you mean my lipstick?" She then balled over in laughter and nothing educational was transmitted further.

But that was just one day, one incident. She tended to ask _a lot_ of questions about turians― completely understandable given the fact that C-Sec was dominated by turians and she had to deal with us (mostly me) on a daily basis. I was just glad I could help out. Shepard was getting pretty good at staring turians down, especially ones that were hiding something.

I admit I was hesitant at first when she joined our investigative division, but now I couldn't imagine we'd have gotten this far without her.

Which was why Executor Pallin was really pissing me off.

Didn't he see what an outrage this was? Dr. Saleon's ties with the salarian councilor was a cover up! Why didn't he see that?

I stared him down, willing him to understand, to see the truth in my eyes. Dr. Saleon was a monster and had to be stopped.

The Executor looked down at his desk, grimacing (okay, I finally looked― that crack was _not_ going away), but I didn't care about the stupid desk. It wasn't just eye contact with turians. We got physical, too. Threw things. _Broke_ things. I'd told Shepard that, too, but she just nodded at me all funny, patting my arm, saying, "Yeah, I have anger management issues, too, Garrus."

I was angry.

"Commander Shepard and I showed you―"

"Calm down, Vakarian," Pallin said, returning to his seat, black eyes aflame. "You two vigilantes showed me nothing but contempt for the law. I can't stand behind you on this one. The doctor must be released immediately."

"We have evidence, Executor―"

"_Inadmissible_ evidence, obtained unlawfully."

I growled, pushing off his desk to glare at the wall.

_Ugh_, I _knew_ he'd say that! Executor Pallin was the king of playing by the book, the personification of red tape.

"He's wrong, Garrus," Shepard had said one night. We'd been combing the Wards, following a trail of clues that began with two krogan testicles and a turian liver. "Humans have the same kind of justice system. Admissibility standards, the whole nine yards. But you know what? Evidence is only excluded if it's in the interests of justice to do so. Judges have discretion when it comes to stuff like that. The weight of the evidence, its significance, the gravity of the law being broken―"

We were, at that moment, breaking and entering.

"No one should care that we broke a few laws gathering evidence if, in the end, a murderer was brought to justice," she'd said.

I couldn't agree more.

And Executor Pallin couldn't agree less.

Early on in our investigation, Shepard and I realized it was hopeless doing things the way Pallin expected. The Executor's endless rules and regulations were only working in Dr. Saleon's favor, not ours. Dr. Saleon's criminal operations were extensively covered up by friends in high places (the salarian councilor, for one― how much higher could you get?), and by his own strength of personality and reputation. As far as most people knew, Dr. Saleon was an upstanding pillar of the medical and scientific community, prized for his genetics research and generous heart. After all, he hired the poor, the destitute― gave them jobs, gave them hope.

But the deeper we rooted into Dr. Saleon's public persona, the more we realized what horrors it was shadowing. The darkness below his glittery facade was devastating to discover, especially for Shepard.

She didn't elaborate.

She only said it reminded her of things she'd seen on Earth, growing up on the streets as a homeless orphan. The weak being exploited. The desperate, torn from dignity.

We discovered that Dr. Saleon had his hands in hundreds of medical clinics across the Citadel, and he filled them up with desperate, vulnerable employees beholden to him. _Only to him_.

These employees became his victims.

He secretly used their bodies to grow cloned body parts for profit. Once the organs reached peak maturity, he'd surgically remove them and sell them on the black market.

It was not a clean process.

We found evidence of medical experiments gone wrong, grotesque indignities to the sanctity of the body. We found dozens of deformed cadavers with twisted and redundant organs, inside and out. Bodies riddled by dozens of incisions, suggesting Dr. Saleon used his victims' bodies like living test tubes, over and over, until he could use them no more.

Sometimes we didn't even find bodies, just neatly stacked turian livers, salarian hearts boxed in ice, and krogan testicles strung up like party lanterns. Trafficking body parts― even people― wasn't new or unusual in my experience (as bad as that sounded). I'd worked with C-Sec long enough to know, to have seen it all, but this was different. The sheer _scale _of Dr. Saleon's criminal operations was extraordinary.

And the way it was being covered up, glossed over― I wanted to hit someone. I even went to my father for advice on this case. C-Sec was in his blood; _he'd understand_, I'd told myself, but all I got was a mirror of the Executor. Both of them believed in acting 'honorably,' following the rules no matter what― "but what do you do when those same rules allow a murderer to keep murdering, Dad?"

"You try harder, son," my father had said. "Keep digging for evidence."

The sad, twisted thing was, evidence wasn't really a problem. We had plenty of evidence, but no one willing to stick their neck out and look at it. Executor Pallin could "play by the book" and claim to be on the side of honor all he liked, but the way Shepard and I saw it, criminals had wiggled their way_ into_ his precious rulebook, creating loopholes to exploit the spirit of the law.

I called it red tape.

Shepard called it corruption.

But Executor Pallin? I wasn't entirely convinced he was corrupted. I couldn't believe he was taking bribes or anything. No way. It seemed more like _soft_ corruption. Is that even a thing? I don't know. Just that it seemed like he had too many higher-ups (like the salarian councilor) telling him what to do, how to think, and because of their perceived "goodness" and authority, Pallin was going along with it.

"What about yesterday's sabotage?" I asked, hurling myself back into Executor Pallin's attention. He couldn't get rid of me so easily. I wasn't going to just walk out the door and forget about this. I owed it to Shepard, to all of Dr. Saleon's victims, to keep trying. "Are you just going to sit back and_ let_ Dr. Saleon get away with destroying evidence?"

Executor Pallin sat at his desk, his eyes stone cold and unmoving. "C-Sec is under attack almost daily by hackers and data miners, Garrus. We have no evidence that last night's cyberattack had anything to do with the doctor. The salarian councilor has assured me―"

I punched his face.

Didn't even think about it. Just swung with my fist, a glancing blow across the Executor's jawline, made awkward by the desk between us and his lowered height.

An awkward silence ensued as Executor Pallin glared up at me, covering his mouth and jaw with one hand. I'd kept my talons curled inwards; there'd been no blood drawn.

"Detective Garrus, you're hereby suspended without pay. Relinquish your badge and sidearm immediately."

I did it.

Fed up with the Executor's rules and regulations, I was _happy_ to do it.

_I'll just have to take my investigation underground_, I thought. If Executor Pallin was unwilling to take action against the blatant sabotage of evidence gathered against Dr. Saleon, I would.

Early yesterday morning, mountains of evidence stored within C-Sec's computer network had been scrubbed clean in a devastating cyberattack, most of it to do with Dr. Saleon's investigation. Months and months of investigative work down the drain. Irreplaceable crime scene photographs, fingerprint scans and bioreadings, eyewitness reports. All of it gone.

And physical evidence, too.

Shepard and I couldn't believe it.

"How do bodies just disappear?" she'd growled as we stood in C-Sec's emptied-out evidence locker room where we kept Dr. Saleon's victims in cold storage.

The C-Sec officers on guard blamed it on the keepers.

"They got in," one had said, turning green at the recollection (he was human, one of the few in C-Sec). "The keepers, they started... ugh, they started _feeding_ on the bodies, Commander."

Shepard almost gave _him_ a punch. "And you didn't stop them?" she had shrieked. I'd never seen her so angry, so helpless.

"They're keepers. We're not allowed to interfere―"

To top it off, Executor Pallin had refused to listen. _Clearly,_ this destruction of physical evidence pointed to the fact that Dr. Saleon had somehow figured out how to control the keepers― a serious crime― and he should, at least, be brought in for questioning.

"Don't be ridiculous," Pallin had said. "No one knows how the keepers work, let alone how to control them. This was all just an accident. Maybe one of the keepers malfunctioned."

(There's actually a creepy story behind what he's talking about. There are no graveyards or crematoriums on the Citadel. The dead are ceremonially ejected into space or returned to their home planet, if they have one. The keepers have been known to "eat" bodies if you leave them lying around for too long, but they've never ventured into C-Sec's cold storage before, as if they'd been programmed to leave it alone).

"I'm not surprised the keepers are part of this," Shepard had mumbled. She had a growing suspicion of them. I wasn't as concerned; I barely _noticed_ the keepers, but for some reason they really bothered her.

But it turned out, this whole keeper debacle led us to a major breakthrough. Just the idea that someone could actually figure out how to use the keepers was black market information.

So we went to the Shadow Broker.

Well, an _agent_ of the Shadow Broker. His name was Barla Von, a volus, and when he wasn't buying and selling highly classified information, he worked as a financial advisor on the Citadel (his clientele being quite impressive: Spectres, I'm told). From him we purchased a name: Chorban.

It took most of the day tracking him down.

We found him in Chora's Den, a seedy gentlemen's club in the Lower Wards. Quite an unusual destination for a salarian (their species were known for almost zero libido). You could tell he didn't want to be there; he was nervous, fidgeting. We cornered him at a back table, lost in the shadows. He claimed he wasn't the criminal sort― in fact, his mission was entirely scientific in nature. He'd invented a keeper scanning device and was trying to find an "adventurous sort" (hence Chora's Den) to help scan keepers all over the Citadel― discreetly, of course. He didn't want anyone arrested.

"Of course not," I'd said, laying my pistol out on the table. It was clearly C-Sec-issued. The salarian got the message.

"You're Citadel Security?" he'd squeaked, his large amphibious eyes swimming in anxiety as he stared at Shepard and I. "I-I… am I arrested?"

I imagined Shepard probably wanted to _award_ this salarian for studying the keepers, not lock him away, but if he was actually working with Dr. Saleon, that flipped things around.

Shepard took point on this one. She'd said, "We need information."

In the end, Chorban told us everything. He'd developed the advanced scanning technology with his partner, a salarian named Jahleed, but one day Jahleed stole the prototype. Betrayed him. Sold it on the black market.

To you know who.

"So we know Dr. Saleon got a working prototype of that scanning device," Shepard had said as we left Chora's Den behind― and a very peeved salarian (Shepard had confiscated his scanning device). "Do you think he improved on it? Obviously, it's doing more than just scanning if he figured out how to control them. Maybe this thing can hack into their cybernetics without them instantly self-destructing."

She'd hoisted the scanning device into view; it was surprisingly bulky given that today's technology was normally compact. I tapped its white surface with my talon-tipped finger.

"I never heard of Dr. Saleon being the techie type," I'd said.

"Well, maybe he has someone who is."

"And maybe this is the breakthrough we've been waiting for, Shepard," I'd said. "Tampering with keepers is a crime. If we catch Dr. Saleon in possession of this device, we can make an arrest."

Shepard grinned ear to ear. "Or at least get a search permit out of it. Get some _admissible_ evidence."

So we initiated our hunt; it lasted for hours, well into the night, but by morning we had Dr. Saleon in custody.

But no scanning device. And no permit. _No nothing_.

Except that ship. The MSV Fedele.

"Try harder," my father had said. _And own every decision you make, good or bad._

I knew what I had to do, then. And it was bad.

Part 2

POV: Commander Verity Shepard

Location: _Serpent Nebula Cluster / Widow System / The Citadel_

I headed towards the elevators.

A holographic interface sprang to life around my left forearm in swirls of orange light as I activated my omni-tool. I brought up recent contacts and queued for connection with Garrus.

"Come on, come on," I growled, impatiently.

When it failed to connect, I felt my stomach tighten._ Frak!_ I reached the elevator and punched it down one level.

"Tell me Dr. Saleon is still in custody, Garrus," I mumbled under my breath. _That I'm not too late_.

The elevator doors swished open, depositing me on a walkway that I could follow to Executor Pallin's office. Thankfully, his office was nearby else I'd _really_ be pressed for time.

Foot traffic was high, and I had to weave in and out of the crowd, threading my way through knots of people going about their daily lives. It gave me time to think. To worry.

_Hurry, Shepard. Hurry_.

(Yeah, I talked to myself in third person. It was kind of like what the military taught you― compartmentalize― but it actually started much earlier for me, before I joined the Alliance. It was born of living on the streets of London, so destitute I had _nothing_, not even dignity. I'd been invisible. The lowest rung of humanity. It'd been a sort of comfort, talking to myself, when I'd had no friend that would. But that was before I joined the Tenth Street Reds. _And back then I hadn't called myself Shepard_).

_Hurry_.

The Executor's office was housed within C-Sec Academy, the main hub of operations on the Citadel, and where I spent most of my time when not venturing out of the police station to do "real" detective work.

C-Sec had several district offices on the Citadel, each varying in size and function. Most were on the Lower Wards combating crime of various sorts (everything from domestic disturbances to theft, smuggling, slave trades, and illegal A.I., …), while others were at important exchange junctions like markets, transport hubs, and docking bays.

In contrast, the Executor's office was uniquely situated, its location chosen for its proximity to political epicenters rather than areas of high risk. The Executor wasn't just head of Citadel Security; he acted as a liaison between Citadel Security and the Citadel Council. A_ political_ position, and his office's location reflected that. (Knowing that, am I surprised Pallin is such a tool? He claims 'by the book,' but all I see is corruption).

Despite the obvious prestige of being on the Presidium, Executor Pallin's office was strangely unpretentious, lacking both size and natural light (as "natural" as could be on a space station with artificial skies).

Every time I walked into his office, I wondered why the heck they didn't given the poor guy windows.

The Presidium's sky was artificial, but it was still calming and beautiful, its cheerful clouds painting a pretty reflection on the waters below. (Sometimes I really, really hated that sky, longing in my heart for Earth's blue memory). Green parklands surrounded a large reservoir that stretched upwards into the sky at an impossible angle, thanks to the Presidium's 'Stanford torus'-like design. But what was the point of having an office on the Presidium if you couldn't enjoy its views?

None of the five Wards had anything like it. The rest of the Citadel was encased in eternal night, lit only by the stars and the purple gas nebula that engulfed the space station like a protective shroud.

I'd told Captain Anderson I preferred that eternal night, bathed in purple twilight, over the Presidium's sunny green. He liked to hear about my experiences living on the Citadel, as if he yearned for something like it. (Truthfully, I think he was getting a bit tired of the 'military life,' and from what I've seen between him and Kaylee Sanders, I think he'd benefit from not living on a warship for the rest of his life). The captain had only visited me once (in person) over the last five months (though we were in contact almost daily over the comm relays).

I'd shown him my small Alliance-funded apartment in the Lower Wards, and the view… _Frak me, the view_. Sometimes I couldn't sleep (Dr. Saleon's case had weighed heavily on me from the start), and I'd just stand in front of my floor-to-ceiling window and stare into that incredible alien vista of high-rise megabuildings, slender and pinpricked with light, space-borne vehicles zipping by like fireflies against the night. Five Wards, five spindles held weightless against the black of the universe, connected by a majestic ring of light: the Presidium.

"Still doesn't beat Earth," Captain Anderson had said.

I'd grinned. "Nothing beats Earth."

As for Executor Pallin, it didn't surprise me that he'd made nothing of it when I'd mentioned the lack of windows one day. He had an austerity of mind that allowed little beyond the confines of duty and responsibility.

He was always dry, matter-of-fact. Even his face looked like stone.

Like many turians, his face was marked by tattoos, a practice steeped in tradition (as Garrus explained to me). I'd seen several colorings (Garrus had predominately white and blue), but most tattoos I saw were overwhelmingly white or gray, occasionally blue or green, rarely red or pink or purple. To me, the white gave turians a stone-faced look; immovable, strong, unflinching. In Pallin's case, it reflected his damnable rigidness. He led by the book. Always by the book. _A frakking stupid rock, that one_.

_Hopefully, Garrus got him to budge on_―

I stopped short, my eyes drawn to the large atrium on my right. I'd made my way into the C-Sec Academy and had been weaving through long, narrow hallways choked with turians when something caught my eye.

The atrium was a breakroom of sorts. It held sprawling lounges curving every corner, their ends capped by boxy planters sprouting silvery-leafed foliage. The alien leaves were like mirrors, a metallic sheen that bounced light around the windowless atrium. There were turians coming and going, some lounging here and there, but most were standing in small groups, watching the gigantic screen in the center of the atrium.

It was blasting the news in flashy colors, and I stared in disbelief, my breath caught in my throat. _No_.

Every pang of panic, urgency, and fear that had clenched my insides during Udina's meeting returned in full force, gripping my stomach in roiling waves.

I saw Dr. Saleon. Free.

The recording was live. _Frakking live!_ Where was this? Somewhere on the Presidium? _Why hadn't I seen_― _Maybe then I could of_― He stood in the middle of a storm, a swarming sea of reporters jostling for position, their high-tech equipment hovering above them like flies, capturing his every word, his every move.

He wore his white lab coat, but it was badly torn and stained with green blood. I saw my handprints around his neck, a band of discolored flesh.

He spoke in quick, chirping tones, common to salarians' speech, but at times his voice slipped as if strangled by his own rage.

As I stood there listening, his voice shifted in and out of focus. At times, all I could hear was my own heart hammering in my ears, deafening everything.

"…_an outrage!_... I have formally filed a complaint with the Council!... what kind of oversight… unlawfully detained for questioning…ridiculous accusations!...unfounded…demand justice!…turian fired…the human known as Commander Shepard…lack authority…these humans…reckless, violent―"

_I don't always lose control of my biotics_. It's highly unprofessional, for one thing, and extremely dangerous, for another, but I lost it then.

All the Alliance shrinks said I had anger management issues. That one day it'd get me in trouble.

I'd be the first to admit that anger had a way of stirring me up inside― but this… this was beyond anger.

I charged my biotics in a split-second, and in the next, I threw a black, gleaming, warping singularity into the atrium's enormous screen, crushing its mass so completely it disappeared in the blink of an eye.

Just like that, it was silent.

Then the C-Sec officers began shouting at me, pointing at me, cursing at me. Some even drew their sidearms, but I ignored them all, my heart racing ahead of me as I drilled a hole straight through the crowd towards Executor Pallin's office.

Waves of officers gave way. I was in no mood to wonder how this looked. _Bad, probably_. But that was just the kind of day I was having.

I busted through the Executor's door (a biotic kick), shoving past C-Sec officers crowded inside. I didn't see Garrus among them, but I recognized a few by name: emergency responders, undercover agents, hostage negotiators, bomb squad techs, sentinels and infiltrators― I'd worked with each and every one of them in some capacity over the last five months.

They all reported to Executor Pallin, and they all were staring at me now. The small room fell to silence as I leaned over Pallin's desk and hissed, "What the hell did you do?"

I crossed my arms and stared him down (just like Garrus had taught me), ignoring everyone else in the room, though I could hear some of them gasping and whispering.

For a long tense moment, Pallin held my gaze, his face completely stone cold and devoid of reaction. Then he looked over my shoulder and gave a small nod. The officers silently filed out of his office and shut the door behind them. We were alone.

Pallin rose steadily to his feet and slowly walked around his desk to stand in front of me. "The Council demanded his release, Commander. It was my duty to comply."

"Spare me," I glowered. I didn't want to hear it. "Where's Garrus?"

The Executor's eyes turned colder. "He's been suspended without pay. He assaulted me."

I tried to keep a straight face, but shock got the better of me. An outburst of laughter erupted from my lips, but short-lived. I didn't expect the Executor to tolerate me much longer.

"_Where_ is he?"

He rubbed his swollen jawline, grimacing. "I don't know. After we quarreled, he marched out of here, silent as death. If he knows what's best for him, he'll stay out of this business with Dr. Saleon― and you, too, Commander. I'm considering suspending you as well, though I'm not entirely sure I have the power to do so, you being the Council's pet and all."

He sneered at me.

"No need, Executor," I said coolly, turning away. "I'll be out of your _hair_, at least for a few days."

A cheap shot. Turians had no hair and often took offense if you suggested their cranial bony ridges were unattractive or inferior.

"What do you mean?"

"The hair?―"

"No, you leaving," he growled, unamused.

"It's classified." _At least for now_. "But I suppose you can know the _Council_ is in on it." I made it to the door and glared back at him, letting that sink in. _You can't suspend me, idiot_.

"You let a murderer walk free, Executor. You can be sure I'll be seeing you again."

Part 3

POV: "Bad Boy" Barla Von

Location: _Serpent Nebula Cluster / Widow System / The Citadel_

It was just one of those days. _Slow_.

I had my data miners trawling the network at every corner of the known universe, but only a few were returning with anything remotely interesting.

_Look at this. Old useless information_, I growled to myself, preferring inward dialogue. Speech in this atmosphere was just too painstakingly difficult― I'd tried a variety of breathing apparatuses, but none improved the―_ gasp_― problem. Alas, as a volus, I was doomed to poor verbal communication in a world dominated by carbon-based clans. It wasn't _my_ fault that the Vol-clan evolved ammonia-based biochemistry instead. But sometimes... _Sigh_. Sometimes it felt like the universe was against us.

_Where was I? Oh, yes, getting nowhere_. The SSV Tokyo's departure from the Citadel was old news. No one was going to buy that information. The news networks probably already had it, anyway. What I needed was privileged information. Classified intel, and the more dangerous the better. _I had to make a living, after all_.

I deployed shadow hacks along the Tokyo inquiry_. Ah, now this is interesting_. I leaned forward, my bulbous body squashed against the broad desk before me, holographic data spitting out at me at just the right pace― too fast for most species. But not for me. _This_ is what I lived for.

_The Tokyo didn't leave empty-handed_. Hmm, interesting, yes. Quite a few distinguished scientists of various ilk were shuffled aboard under high security. I queued up a few buyers. Yes, yes, this would be worth a credit or two. Everyone wanted their nose up the humans' business end these days. (A repulsive visual. Humans weren't universally attractive like the asari were. I could daydream about―). _Twenty credits? Sold!_

_Where was I? Oh, yes. _Everyone was wary of the humans, and they should be! They were the newcomers. The underdogs. And that made them dangerous.

If you were buying, I was selling.

I could tell you a secret or two about the humans. There was a whisper wandering the network about some Prothean discovery on one of the human colonies. _Which? I had no idea_. I'd been trying to nibble on that one for days, but to no avail. Everyone knew when _that_ happened the Shadow Broker had intervened and there was nothing to find unless the Shadow Broker wanted you to. The Shadow Broker ruled.

I closed the office for the day. Financial investor by day, adventurous information _bad boy_ broker by night. I laughed. Even though it hurt to breathe, I laughed.

But my work never truly ended.

_The universe never sleeps_.

During the night, a most curious alert woke me. I'd forgotten about that trawler. One I'd set up years ago. _Five years ago?_ I winked open blurry eyes. Looked in astonishment. Most curious, indeed.

The trawler had intercepted a tight-beam communication laser on a comm buoy containing special keywords. _Very_ special keywords. I'd programmed the trawler to scan for them, and if found, alert me immediately.

It found them.

_How exciting!_ You didn't become an information broker if you didn't enjoy sifting through people's fears and tears.

There was something inexplicitly satisfying about holding a person's deepest secrets in the palm of your hand and selling that information to their enemy, and then turning right around and selling their enemy's deepest secrets right back to the original person you frakked over.

Yes, very satisfying.

It was balance.

Order.

My very special keyword awoke that glorious feeling of satisfaction. I'd been instrumental in his greatest work, and now it seemed, that work was to continue.

Let's open the message. Read―

My heart dropped. _No!_ The message was encrypted, and my shadow hacks couldn't―

What's this? The Shadow Broker!?

After _months _of desert, and now―

I read the contract quickly. He was offering to sell me the decryption algorithm! (Or _she_; no one knew who the Shadow Broker was).

I felt mildly alarmed (impressed?)― the Shadow Broker had intercepted my interception. _Oh, stop_. Did it really matter? The Shadow Broker had information to sell. _To me_. And was I interested?

Yes, yes, most interested!

I bounded out of bed, disentangling myself from mountains of heavy blankets. Too heavy. I rolled onto the floor, excitedly activating my omni-tool. Sending a response.

You _never_ turn down information from the Shadow Broker.

No matter the cost.

I admit I hesitated. Fifty thousand credits, _oh, my_.

I submitted the credits. Received the encrypted message in response.

I read it.

'Shepard, it's Garrus. I don't know if you'll receive this message― I had to push it through comm relays I don't normally use so that Dr. Saleon's ship sensors hopefully won't notice, but here's praying for miracles. You might have noticed I'm missing. Yes, I've smuggled myself aboard the Fedele. I'm safe, for the moment. Don't give me that look. I know you would have done the same, if you could. I've made contact with one of Dr. Saleon's "assistants." She's some kind of medical researcher, a drell, and clearly traumatized. Held against her will. She tells me we're on route to Eden Prime, a human colony. Why Dr. Saleon is going there, I have no idea, but maybe this is a good thing. You can alert the Alliance there, Shepard. Maybe stop Dr. Saleon once we reach orbit. I'll try my best to stop him before then. Shepard, the things on this ship― you're right. _We_ are right. He's a monster, and we have to stop him, even if it means splitting the Executor's rulebook in half. For now, I'm laying low, trying to work some of my tech magic with these onboard computers. Maybe I can get more help from the drell, too. She's been on this ship longer than me. I can see it in her eyes. She hasn't said much else― she's so terrified― but she's at least given me her name. It's Irikah, she says― in the saddest voice you've ever heard. Irikah Krios.'

My hands were trembling.

I sold my financial services (and _other _talents) to the Citadel elite: diplomats, ambassadors, and even Spectres. What people didn't know was that I also sold it to assassins.

I sent a discreet inquiry to one_ particular_ assassin. A past client of mine, neither friend nor foe. I labeled it: "Information regarding your wife" and "One hundred thousand credits."

I knew he'd pay it.


End file.
